Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23591 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23591 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Taking a deep breath, Maribelle looked over at the pile of logs that her grandmother must have managed to procure or fell herself before she passed.
She could have gone back in the cabin. Put on another layer or two. Made a cup of tea to warm up from the inside.
Those would be things that a woman who wasn’t planning on staying would do.
But she didn’t do those things.
She went in search of the ax and then made her way over to the wood, piling a smaller piece on the chopping block, taking a couple of practice swings, then chopping.
I mean… she missed completely.
But that wasn’t exactly the point.
She tried.
It counted for something.
That was the kind of partner you wanted. One who was willing to work, willing to try.
Going back into my tent, I grabbed the little welcome basket I’d put together before leaving the camp, and made my way toward the path, so she would see me coming, so it didn’t look like I was being a creep again.
She was valiantly chipping off little pieces of the log with another swing when she saw me coming.
I swear I could feel the relief as it washed over her.
“Hey,” she called as I got closer.
“Hey, neighbor,” I said. “If my mother was still around, she’d tan my hide if she knew I greeted the new neighbor and didn’t bring them a welcome basket,” I told her, waving the pack with snacks and a bottle of wine at her. “You need some help with that?” he asked, trying to keep from smirking as I saw that she’d somehow managed to wedge the ax into the chopping block instead of the log.
“Don’t laugh,” she demanded, even though she was letting out a small chuckle at her own expense. “I am city folk,” she said, taking the basket from me. “The closest thing to manual labor I needed to do in the city was raising my arm to hail a cab.”
“How about I cut a couple logs up for you?” I asked, but it was more of a demand, because I was already reaching for the handle of the ax.
“If you insist,” he said, glad to step away.
“Where’s that no-good boyfriend of yours?” I asked as I swung the ax down and split the log, noticing the way her pretty lips fell open, not used to seeing men do manly shit.
“I, ah, I have to confess to something…” she said, eyeing me.
“That you made up the lineman boyfriend lie because you were worried I was a creep?” I asked, shooting her a devilish little smile.
To that, an all-too-appealing blush crept across her cheeks and nose.
“I’m a terrible liar,” she admitted, shaking her head.
“Baby, that’s not a bad trait to have,” I said, shrugging it off, pretending I didn’t sense the way desire pinged through her body at the pet name.
Pet names and scalp massages. That was what this woman liked best so far.
“I guess. I mean, I once tried to get out of going to a work event by saying I’d broken my ankle. I, um, had to put a fake cast on for weeks after,” she admitted. “I was never so glad to go remote.”
“Remote,” I repeated. “Sounds like a synonym for lonely.”
Her brows lifted at that. “Ah, yeah, I guess. It’s hard to believe that in a city of like eight million people that you can feel alone, but yeah.”
“Way I see it, it’s probably worse.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as I propped up another piece of wood.
“If you’re going through some shit and need someone, passing by hundreds or thousands of people each day who don’t care that you exist, that shit can make someone feel really invisible and insignificant.”
“That’s… that is exactly it,” she said, nodding.
“Hey, Maribelle?” I called as I grabbed another log.
“Yeah?”
“You’re not insignificant.”
It was a nothing thing to say. But it was something she clearly needed to hear. Because tears flooded her eyes for a second before she rapidly blinked them away. But not before one managed to slip out.
Feeling it, she reached out, pretending to scratch her face to disguise the fact that she was wiping it away.
“I have to admit that I feel pretty insignificant that I can’t even keep myself warm,” she said, waving at my small stack of wood I’d already split.
“Hey, this shit? This is nothing. Just takes some practice and determination. You’ll get there. In the meantime, I don’t mind.”
“I can’t just ask you to come here every couple days and split wood for me.”
“Why not?” I asked, shrugging.
“Why not? Because, ah, that’s a big inconvenience.”
“It’s not.”
“You have a life.”
“This only takes a short hour out of it,” I shot back.
“I should be able to take care of myself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture.
“Who made you believe that?” I asked, softening my voice. “There’s nothing wrong with leaning on someone else’s strengths so you have the time and freedom to lean into your own.”